Road to Perdition
by Miss Pookamonga
Summary: He was on the road to perdition, heading straight back into that part of himself where he wasn't supposed to go. Rated T for content and language.


_Dear Readers,_

_Well, this is the second fic I've come up with based on something composed by Thomas Newman (seriously, his movie soundtracks defy description). I came up with this around the same time as "Any Other Name", which I guess explains why both have to do with Newman's music. This one is inspired by the end theme from the movie _Road to Perdition _(which I must say is one of the most beautiful movies ever made, only, it's rated R and there's a lot of violence and they use the f-word a lot because it's technically a gangster movie. but the story itself is very beautiful). Anyway, I'm sorry for all the angst again, but I have a terrible tendency towards writing angst. At least there's plenty of fluff, though. Oh, and I apologize for any OOCness. I tried as hard as possible to keep them IC. Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy. Please review! Thanks._

_Best Regards from a Bookworm,_

_Miss Pookamonga ;-P (and her muses...YES, Kenneth Branagh, you now belong to ME! Stop trying to run away with your Shakespearey Goodness.)_

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Road to Perdition

He was driving the wrong way.

No, he was on the right side of the road, but he felt as if he was driving in the wrong direction, away from the one thing he had been driving towards for so long. He was on the road to perdition, heading straight back into that part of himself where he wasn't supposed to go.

If only it could be that easy to turn back.

He tried to tell himself that it _was _easy, that turning around was the obviously better choice. But there was that inkling inside him, that tiny little hobgoblin whispering "no, no, no" constantly into his ear. No, because it wasn't right; no, because it would never work; no, because he'd caused enough damage already.

No, because he was afraid.

But why? Things weren't the same as they'd been before.

He stared blindly past the torrents of rain as they pelted the windshield of his car, not wishing to know where he was going. In fact, something in him told him that he was more afraid of where he was returning to than of where he should have been reaching towards. He gulped and clutched the steering wheel tightly, blinking unwanted tears out of his eyes, stiffening his foot on the gas pedal...until he felt as if he was about to explode from the potent mix of emotions bubbling up within him. He veered to the side of the road and swiftly parked, afterward leaning dejectedly against the back of his seat and shutting his eyes.

He didn't want his mind to replay what had happened.

But it did anyway.

* * *

_He pulled up to the house reluctantly, wanting desperately to go inside but at the same time dreading the idea of having to see her. His emotions were too raw, his heart was still wounded like it had been for years, and seeing her would only make the wound sting harder. The last thing he needed now was violent passion ramming his senses headlong into oblivion; his increased vulnerability wouldn't be any help to him if such a situation should arise._

_But somehow, he knew one would anyway._

_He tentatively walked up to her door and rang the doorbell. Keeping his eyes focused intently on his feet, he rocked back and forth on his heels, praying that he wouldn't make a fool of himself, until he heard a "click" and the door swung open. _

_"Hey, you made it!" came the voice, and he instantly shivered at the sound of it._

_He didn't know how he had found the courage to allow his eyes to meet hers without letting himself slip away into a vortex of yearning again. "Heh, yeah, I made it," he replied pathetically, forcing a smile._

_She invited him in and smiled back at him, _that _smile that he'd only just recently noticed seemed to be reserved for only him. In the past he had seen her use that smile with a number of other people, but that number had significantly decreased over the years, until he had finally realized that she was apparently singling him out. Unless she had an even more precious smile for a certain general which she had never dared to show anyone. He had often tried to push the latter thought out of his mind when he had seen her smile at him in "that way", but he was often reminded how most of her affection for him was probably fabricated in his head and only a small percentage of it was actually real. _

_"I'm glad you were able to come," he vaguely heard her say. Well, he heard her voice, but he wasn't really paying attention to her words. More accurately, he was admiring the mere sound of her voice. God, he'd forgotten how lovely it sounded to his ears._

_No. He had to control himself. He wasn't here for...that._

_And she didn't see him that way._

_"I've been going through a lot of the data you sent us from Atlantis, but there's so much that I haven't had time to go through all of it," she continued, although he was failing miserably in his attempt to keep an objectively clear head about the situation. "I was hoping you could help me out."_

_He didn't realize that she had turned to look at him for a few seconds. When the fact finally registered, he blinked, shook his head, and blurted, "I'm sorry, what? Oh...oh yeah, I can help. Sorry, I'm kind of...um...out of it, y'know..."_

_She chuckled. Damn, she had a cuter laugh than he remembered. "It's okay. My laptop's in the living room." She inclined her head in the said direction and led him to the couch. _

_He told himself repeatedly that he didn't need to be nervous about sitting next to her. He was just sitting, he told himself; it was nothing more. But the minute he let himself sink down onto the couch, he felt himself shaking. This was not good._

_"Lemme just pull it up first...this laptop's been a pain in the ass all day," she muttered next to him, fiddling with the keyboard. _

_He wanted her—needed her—to keep talking, to distract him, but she didn't say anything, so he inevitably became preoccupied with staring at her. Definitely not a good thing. Definitely not—oh, she was brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Furrowing her brow beneath the curved golden bangs, tapping her foot on the floor, biting her lower lip every now and then...and he hadn't really realized before just how perfectly her neck curved from her head to her shoulders. _

_He wasn't fantasizing now. He respected her far too much for that now. Now all he could do was gaze at her in awe rather than lust, with a longing that surprisingly went much further than the physical. With every little thing he noticed about her, he knew there was something even more beautiful buried beneath, and he wanted to know everything above and under the surface. Too many times had he used her in his mind and had never been satisfied—he'd only begun to realize perhaps two years ago that maybe he actually wanted something more from her, something that couldn't be sensed right away or provide instant gratification. _

_He didn't know when that terrible sense of longing pushed him over the edge and incited him to speak. He didn't know why he even really spoke at all, or why he had felt the need to tell her what he said, or why he thought it would somehow satisfy that longing. The words just slipped out of his mouth, and before he could stop himself..._

_"Sam?"_

_"Mmm?" she mumbled, still engrossed in trying to navigate through her computer's maze of systems._

_"Sam." It was a statement now, less shaky, less unsure. Firm, and deeper. She lifted her eyes away from the screen and turned to look at him._

_"Yeah, what is it?"_

_He stared at those eyes for a moment, searching them to see if there was something hidden behind the glass pools of blue. But he was too nervous to find much of anything. "I...um..." he looked away, then looked pointedly down at his shoes. "I broke up with Jen."_

_Silence. He looked away again._

_"Oh...I'm...sorry, Rodney..." _

_Despite the sincere softness in her voice, that wasn't what moved him to turn his head and look back at her. No, it was the delicate touch of her hand on top of his, the feather-light sensation of her fingers brushing against his own, and the reassuring squeeze she then gave afterwards. _

_He was looking at her now. It was too dangerous of a position for him to be in, but he didn't want to get out of it._

_"It...it's not that," he continued quietly. "We're, um, fine, really. It happened weeks ago. Actually...it was a mutual thing. It wasn't working." He had to look down then._

_"Well...I'm sure it was for the best," she remarked, giving his hand another squeeze. _

_"It was," he answered—maybe too quickly, because he felt her expression change although he was looking away from her again. "We both knew it was. That's why we um...y'know." He waved his free hand in the air. "She wasn't happy. I...wasn't either."_

_He felt her expression change again, and he knew a question was coming. It suddenly terrified him how well he knew her without even needing to look at her. _

_"Is...there a reason you're telling me all this?" It wasn't an inconsiderate question. He could tell by the certain lilt in her voice._

_He took a deep breath._

_And then, all of a sudden, he was seized by a fervent urge he couldn't quite explain. He turned around, grabbed both of her hands in his, and stared straight into her sky-blue eyes, which were now tinted with confusion and perhaps the slightest bit of unease. _

_"Do you know why I wasn't happy?" he hoarsely whispered, almost not realizing what he was saying, but knowing that desperation was taking over him. _

_She swallowed, her features quivering ever so much. "Why?" she asked._

_He looked down and bit his lip. Then he stared up at the ceiling, and after a few seconds, he finally lowered his eyes to gaze into hers again. _

_How what happened next actually happened, he didn't know. All he could remember afterwards was suddenly realizing how close he was to her, how much he was yearning for her, and how long it would be before he saw her again. And then, somehow, he leaned closer and closer until his lips met hers in a brief kiss. _

_It was the most exhilarating moment of his life._

* * *

The minute he had left, she had slumped against the wall and had let herself slide all the way down until she had been sitting on the floor with her knees pulled up to her chest.

She was still sitting there.

Sobbing relentlessly.

She hadn't wanted to cry. She told herself that she didn't need to be crying, that this was all a mistake, that she had just misread him and herself and everything around her and that things would go back to normal. But she knew they couldn't go back to normal now, not with what had happened, not with what they had both just admitted to each other. She couldn't be "normal" without him now, no matter how much she tried. The days of hiding behind a painted mask were over. She couldn't run away anymore. The truth had finally caught up with her.

And it hurt like hell.

Maybe it was the way he had been looking at her the whole time—that lost, wistful look—or maybe it was the way he had spontaneously decided to bare a part of his soul to her, or maybe it was the way he had embraced her in his arms and kissed her. Maybe it was something that went far beyond that, something that had been building up inside her for years although she had allowed herself to be so preoccupied with that someone else so that she wouldn't have the time to ponder over something so terrifying and daunting. All she knew was that it was there, and that it wasn't anything new or foreign to her...and now it had just intensified a notch. No, it had intensified to the point of no return. He was the only one within her view now, and she realized how much she actually wanted him there with her, how much she _needed_ him to be there.

Only now she had lost him again.

* * *

_He was kissing her. _

_Every rational part of her brain had been screaming at her to pull away the moment he had begun to edge closer, but she had pushed the protests away and let him come. She had wanted him to come. She had been...hoping...for this._

_And then his lips were on hers, softly caressing them for only a few seconds before he pulled away. She could feel the reluctance in his body as he did so, and it scared her to know that she actually knew him well enough to detect that kind of thing. She was equally terrified by the fact that she didn't _want _him to pull away. _

_"Rodney..."she whispered, staring at his pained eyes, not knowing what to say.  
_

_"It's stupid, I know. I can't...I don't...know...what...I'm supposed...to..." He had leaned in too close again. He kissed her, a bit harder this time, and she let him. After a few more seconds, she felt the hesitation creeping into him, and instantly, she knew he was going to pull away again. But before he had the chance to, she suddenly leaned in and responded without thinking, increasing the pressure against his mouth._

_The hesitation in him melted away, and she felt his fingertips crawling down her body as he tugged on her bottom lip ever so slightly. The sensation was indescribable. _

_"Oh, God..." she moaned against his lips, before he leaned even farther forward and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him. _

_She slid her hands up over his chest and brought them to rest around his neck as the kiss became even more passionate. She could sense him leaning bit by bit towards the surface of the couch, gradually taking her with him, but she didn't care. She wanted this so badly. She _needed _it, although she didn't quite know why. _

_She didn't know exactly when her back hit the couch, but she did know that almost at that precise moment, he lifted his mouth away from hers and ran his nose down against her jaw line until he reached the base of her ear. She moaned again when he touched his lips to the spot—at first just grazing it, then gradually increasing the pressure until he was kissing it. He ran his nose even farther down her neck and then stopped to kiss yet another spot. Her body went numb at the sensation of his teeth just barely scraping against her skin. He then moved again, lower, to where her neck met her shoulder, and then followed the same exhilarating pattern of running his lips over the area before finally pressing them against it in a soft kiss. _

_Somehow she could feel the desperation in his kisses, the longing within them that he had waited for so long to be satisfied, and somehow, she knew he wasn't just doing this to take advantage of her. She could sense that in how gentle he was being with her, at how slowly he was taking everything, allowing her enough time to resist if she wanted to. But her own longing hadn't been satisfied, and she wanted it as much as he did. She didn't want him to let go yet. She didn't ever want him to let go. _

_She suddenly felt something wet drop against her shoulder as he rested there for a minute, laying his head against her neck. At first, she was confused, but then it hit her when she lifted her hand to touch his face. He was..._crying. _Those were tears._

_Something surged up inside her, and suddenly, she began feeling hot tears roll down her cheeks as well. She bit her lip and brought both hands up to his hair and repeatedly ran her fingers through it, hoping to ease both his pain and hers. She felt his head turn at the gesture, and he slowly lifted it away from her shoulder to look at her face again. When his eyes met hers, she physically felt as if something had stabbed her in the heart; the agony swimming in them was indescribable. There was so much of it that she could sense some of it pouring into her, as if he couldn't hold it all himself._

_"I'm sorry," he suddenly whispered, the expression on his face shifting to one of guilt._

_She frowned and brought her hands to cup his chin. "What for?" she responded in a wispy voice._

_"I shouldn't be doing this," he answered, his fingers absent-mindedly creeping underneath her shirt._

_She had underestimated how skilled his hands could be. They were even defter at caressing her than they were at rapidly typing on his laptop or disabling some kind of device, and she could barely respond to him with most of her breath having been stolen away at the sensation. _

_"I...you...don't stop. Please," she pleaded, begging with her eyes. _

_A strange, tangled mix of emotions shot through his own eyes just then, and he looked almost apologetic. She was surprised when he suddenly moved away from her, letting her hands slip away from his face as he no doubt reluctantly stood up and walked away from the couch. _

_She swallowed back a sob as she lifted herself up. "Rodney, please. Don't go," she begged softly, a terrifying fear that he might leave striking her in the heart._

_"I should," he answered hoarsely, refusing to look at her._

_"No." The defiance in her voice scared her, but she pushed herself up off the couch and walked over to where he was standing. _

_"Sam..." His voice lingered on the name, as if he was reconsidering. But he then shook his head and said, "I can't. I just...I can't." He tried to move away from her again, but she put a hand to his cheek and turned his face towards hers._

_"I thought you wanted to be happy," she croaked, choking back tears. "You can't...if you leave..."_

_"And I can't if I stay here," he whispered shakily. She could tell he was using all his strength to resist pulling her into his arms again. "I can't...I can't...start something that I know I won't be able to come back to."_

_The terrifying fear intensified in the pit of her stomach, and she bit her lip to keep back the tears as she simultaneously grabbed his arm. "Don't...don't talk like that. Don't...don't..." _

_She watched the tears trickle down his face as he moved to cup her face in his hands. "I'll hurt you more if I stay," he choked, wiping away her tears with his thumbs._

_She didn't want to exploit his vulnerability, but she was desperate, she wanted him to stay, she was terrified of being alone again. So she leaned forward and kissed him again, holding onto him so tightly with her arms that she hoped he wouldn't be able to let go. For a few seconds, she was utterly petrified of the possibility that he might resist, but she suddenly felt him responding, and she relaxed slightly. _

_He slipped his hands underneath her shirt again and let his fingers trace little circles on her back as his tongue began to trace the outline of her lips. Her mouth opened as she moaned yet again, and she let him do what he wanted, running his tongue everywhere he willed. She could feel him moving her across the floor as he did so until her back thudded against something hard and she was pinned between him and its surface. She let her tongue touch his mouth finally in response, but her hand suddenly fell away from his body and it inadvertently brushed against what she thought was the wall._

_But it wasn't the wall._

_She broke away from him abruptly, and the guilt in his eyes betrayed the truth. _

_"No, no..."_

_"I'm sorry," he whispered again, looking as if he was about to break into sobs. "I can't...I can't leave you to wait here for months and months wondering if I'll come back alive..."_

_"You're doing that now," she protested, grabbing the doorknob. _

_"Nothing happened. Pretend like it didn't happen," he whispered desperately. "Please. It's better—"_

_"You expect me to just _forget_?!" she hissed incredulously._

_"Just...please, Sam," he begged, wrenching her hand free of the doorknob and turning the lock._

_"Fine," she hissed vehemently, a sudden wave of anger washing over her. She stepped away from him, ignoring the remorseful expression on his face. She almost didn't notice how hard she was shaking. "Fine. Go ahead. Do what you want. Go ahead and live your life denying what you just admitted to me."_

_"Sam, please, it's not like that—"_

_"Then what is it?!" she nearly screamed. "You know what? I don't care. I don't care." She flung the door open, still trembling at her newfound uncharacteristic fury. "Go back to being a coward and forget about me, McKay. Just go!"_

_"Sam—"_

_She slammed the door in his face._

* * *

God, he was such a bastard.

Even more than that. But he didn't have the words to describe himself properly.

Coward. That's what she had called him.

But he was. He knew he was.

He told himself that she would get over it, like she'd gotten over that cop what's-his-name and had somehow gotten over Jack and over all the countless other men in her life. He told himself that what he was doing _was _better for the both of them and that it would be worse to actually start a relationship and then have to leave her to constantly pine over him while he went and risked his ass in another galaxy.

But nothing could rid his mind of the terrible look on her face when she'd slammed the door on him. Nothing could erase that kind of betrayal, that kind of anguish that had been burning through her eyes when he'd last seen them. He was torturing her, _torturing_ her. Her, of all people...he'd caused her more pain than when she'd found out that he had put that damned 48-hour time limit on trying to save Teal'c all those years ago. Dear Lord, what was he _doing_? He couldn't bear seeing that look on her face over and over again every time he shut his eyes. He had never seen her look that hurt before in his life, and he was just going to drive away from her as if nothing had ever happened?

Damn it, what the hell kind of son of a bitch was he?

He needed to go back.

But what if he'd already done enough damage?

He didn't care.

He sat up straight, turned the ignition on, and swerved out onto the street much too quickly for the rainy weather, but again, he didn't care anymore. The only thing driving him was her pained face and his urgent need to fix the mess he'd made. If she didn't forgive him, fine. If he crashed his car into a telephone pole, fine. At least he would die knowing he had tried.

He ignored the constant honks, the rain drumming against the windshield, the possible presence of a radar speed detector—he couldn't really see through all that rain—and sped down the slick road until he came to a stop at her house. He parked quickly, and without allowing himself to sit and wait in the car to ponder over his decision like the coward he could have been, he climbed out of the car and marched straight to her door through the sopping wet sheets of white pelting at him from all directions.

He only hoped that she would answer.

* * *

She didn't know how long she sat there, sobbing into her lap like a teenage girl as she listened to the ominous sound of the rain pounding against the house. Part of her felt furious at him for leaving her like he had, still looking so damned guilty about the whole situation. But part of her felt a twinge of guilt—no, more like a bucket load—at the way she'd screamed at him and slammed the door in his face when he had only had her best interests at heart. And she'd called him a _coward. _She was such an idiot! She knew how much that was going to hurt him. He wasn't a coward. Not anymore. He hadn't been for a long time.

But he'd still run away from the one thing he truly wanted.

Hell, he was such an enigma. He always had been. But that was why she loved him.

Loved?

No, she was not going to dig a deeper hole for herself than the one she was already in. She'd already fallen for the bastard years ago, and now she was about to say she _loved _him? No, not on her watch. Not when he'd left so abruptly.

But she couldn't let go after he'd kissed her like that. After he'd almost blatantly admitted that she was the one who made him happy.

So then why had he run?

She ran her face over her hands, trying to clear her head. She needed to get away, to at least get up from this spot and sit somewhere else. She sniffed and made to push herself up off the floor, but suddenly, she heard a sound that stopped her dead in her tracks.

A knock. On the door.

Not the doorbell. A soft knock. That was it.

She told herself it was that crazy college girl who'd just moved in next door and was apparently obsessed with looking out for her. But deep down, she knew there was only one person who could possibly be there. Besides, her neighbor always rang the doorbell.

Damn it.

At first, she considered remaining there on the floor and ignoring him. But the better part of her knew he was probably going to stand there for days unless she did something, and so she finally stood up, took a deep breath, turned the lock, and opened the door.

She hoped she was doing the right thing.

* * *

The minute the door opened, neither of them knew what to expect.

She didn't expect to see him standing there drenched to the skin from head to toe.

He didn't expect to see her suddenly burst into tears upon seeing him like that.

The two of them stood there for what seemed like an eternity, he staring awkwardly at her, she sobbing so loudly that even the thunderclaps didn't sound powerful enough. He had never seen her cry so openly before. Granted, she had technically been crying when he'd left, but not like _this_. He had never had much experience with sobbing women, let alone a sobbing Samantha Carter, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do now. He figured he should probably hug her, but then again, he was soaked, and he didn't want to get her wet...that would probably piss her off more than he'd already pissed her off. Oh, to hell with it all.

He awkwardly moved forward and cautiously wrapped his arms around her, tentatively awaiting her response. He was both shocked and relieved when she immediately buried her face into his already sopping wet chest and wrapped her own arms tightly around him, sobbing even harder than she had been before. Slowly, he relaxed and brought a hand up to stroke her hair as he laid his chin against her head.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered against the sounds of the pouring rain and the pounding thunder. He suddenly remembered that the door was still open and reached back to pull it closed before continuing to stroke her hair.

He was wet, she could feel that. Wet and cold and not the most appealing thing to be pushed up against at the moment, but she didn't care. He had come back and he was holding her, stroking her hair, whispering that he was sorry in that cute Canadian accent, and she didn't even want to wait to forgive his idiocy in words. _She _wanted to tell him how sorry _she_ was for lashing out at him, but she couldn't because of her damned weeping.

"Immm—smrrfy—tff," she murmured into his chest in between sobs.

"I'm sorry, what?" he replied, pulling her head away from him and desperately fighting back the urge to laugh.

"I said-d-d, I-I'm-m sor-r-r-ry t-too," she sniveled pathetically.

"For what? I'm the freaking bastard," he shot back almost angrily.

"I called you a...a c-coward," she wept more softly.

"So what? I am a freaking coward." He gazed at her apologetically.

She frowned at him indignantly. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"You are _not_ a coward, Rodney McKay."

"_Yes, _I _am, _Samantha Carter."

"You came back, didn't you?"

He went silent, and suddenly she started sobbing again for no reason.

"Damn it, Sam, will you stop _crying_?! God, what's gotten into you, woman?"

She laughed amidst her sobs at the sudden return of his McKay-ish attitude. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she half-sobbed, half-laughed. "I don't know why I'm still crying."

He grabbed her face in his hands. "Well, stop it, will you? You're driving me insane!" His mouth broke into a wide grin despite his attempts to feign annoyance.

She sniffed and leaned her head back against his wet chest. "I'm sorry," she coughed lamely.

"And quit apologizing," he added.

She lifted her head back up and smirked at him. "All right, fine, have it your way," she replied, before kissing him squarely on the lips.

He pushed back against her until she was pinned up against what she knew this time was the wall. He snuck his hands beneath her shirt again, teasing her stomach with his fingertips, and she giggled reflexively against his mouth.

"Stop it," she murmured.

"Stop what? I'm not doing anything," he answered, moving his hands to her back and his lips to her neck simultaneously.

"You are the worst liar I've ever met," she half-whispered into his ear when he brought his lips underneath her chin.

"I know," he said, smirking as he brought his head away to stare into her icy blue eyes again. His smile suddenly softened. "God, you're beautiful." He kissed her mouth again, tasting her with his tongue.

"And you're wet," she replied after he had pulled away again.

"So? What's that supposed to mean?"

"You need to dry off."

He suddenly leaned his forehead against hers and smirked dangerously. "I...could just take off my clothes," he suggested in a low voice.

She rolled her eyes and smirked back, raking her fingers through his wet hair. "Not unless you want to wear my pink bathrobe."

His eyes widened in surprise. "You have a _pink_ bathrobe?"

She giggled at his reaction. "No, it's blue."

At that, his face melted into a smirk again. "Blue?"

"Yes."

He kissed her lips lightly. "Do you happen to have a blue bra that goes with that?"

She slapped his arm.

"OWW!"

"Sorry," she giggled.

"Oh, shut up," he muttered, rubbing his arm.

"You know I love you," she said, kissing his nose. His face suddenly became serious again, and he gazed intently at her.

"Do you?" he whispered.

She bit her lip, considering what to say. "I...I think so. Maybe. I know I will, though."

His mouth broke into a wide smile again, the sweetest, most genuine smile she'd ever seen him put on, and it made her stomach do back flips. "Good, because I think I love you too," he whispered, and leaned in for another kiss.

_**FIN**_


End file.
